


Dragon & Wolf: Of Darkness & Light

by ThroughFlamesAndFrost



Series: Dragon & Wolf [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Divergence, Civil War questline, Companions Questline, Denial, Evading, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Loss of Identity, Main Questline, Minor Character Death, Old Friends to Lovers, Partner Betrayal, Rebound Relationship, Rebuilding Trust, Redemption, Rekindled Romance, accepting destiny, maybe not super happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-04 22:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughFlamesAndFrost/pseuds/ThroughFlamesAndFrost
Summary: Melrakki has fled Eastern Skyrim. No one has heard from or seen her in months. Whispers of the Dragonborn's death abound, and when the world needs her most, she has disappeared.The Companions are in tatters. Kodlak is dead, Melrakki is missing, and the Circle is struggling without the Harbinger's guidance.Civil War is still tearing apart Skyrim, the dragon threat is still very real, and lurking always in the shadows is Alduin, the World-Eater.Can Melrakki be brought back to her destiny, or is the Dragonborn lost, and with her - the world?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh part two! I know I said it would be a couple days, buuuuuut I really needed to get this out. Hope you guys like it, and thank you for following Melrakki's journey this far! You guys are the best - every bookmark, every kudo, every comment is a smile on my face!!

   “Still no news, brother?”

     Vilkas merely grunted, running a thumb over the amulet of Mara. He had held on to it for reasons unknown even to himself. She had vanished without a trace. Her wolf-scent had been lost at the banks of a river. It had not picked up on the other side, meaning she had known they would track her by scent and had ridden the river currents for who knew how long before climbing out and carrying on her way.

     With no Harbinger, the Companions were slowly running out of jobs. Sure, there were still caravans that needed protecting and citizens needing wolves or sabrecats chased from their property, but the big-ticket contracts weren’t coming in like they used to. Dragons were terrorizing the Eastern Holds, no doubt searching for her as he did. The Greybeards had even sent a messenger to Jorrvaskr, alarmed as everyone else that the Dragonborn had simply disappeared.

     Vilkas had become a shadow of his former self, waking with the dawn to train before breakfast and then spending the entirety of his day running the Companions through drill after drill. Farkas was watching him deteriorate. His twin was drinking more, eating less, and giving in to the beast blood during full moons. He was angrier than before, snapping at even the smallest provocation. Vilkas had stopped reading anything that wasn’t a letter from his contacts.

    “Just…leave me,” Vilkas growled.

     Farkas sighed, but did as he was asked. Vilkas ran a hand over his face. He had been so stupid, so blinded by his rage that he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He had hurt her. Verbally. Physically. Emotionally. If she couldn’t be found, he would have to live with that guilt for the rest of his years without having the chance to express how deeply he regretted his actions.

    He missed her, with every fiber of his being. His bed was cold, his wolf spirit was always restless, his heart empty. Vilkas wanted nothing more than to run his hands through her hair, brush his lips against hers, inhale her scent. Woodsmoke, snowberries, dragon and wolf. Sometimes he spent the night in Breezehome, feeling a small comfort being among her things. Her bed still smelled like her, and though he would never admit it to anyone, there were times he held her pillow while sobs silently racked his body.

    Vilkas hadn’t known how much he would need her when she had come to Jorrvaskr. He hadn’t known how strong her hold was on his heart despite spending every moment together like it was their last. There would never be another for him.

    “Please,” he whispered, lips brushing against the amulet of Mara. “Come home, little wolf. We…I need you.”

 

 

 

 

 

********************************

 

 

 

 

     Windhelm was cold, but no one seemed to notice one more Nord among the population. She kept to herself, bussing tables at the Candlehearth Hall and flashing sweet smiles at the Stormcloak soldiers who stopped in for a pint of ale or bowl of stew. In the few short months she had been in the city, she had managed to procure a small, albeit drafty home. Her heart yearned occasionally for home, but she had vowed never to return.

     Half of Skyrim was looking for a tall Nord with long, red-gold hair with the power to Shout dragons from the sky. No one was looking for a tall Nord woman with short, coffee colored hair that made a meager living as a tavern wench. Even the attacks by Alduin had slowed to a crawl, surely because the World-Eater was as confused by her disappearance as everyone else. She heard the whispers among the Stormcloaks, the Dragonborn had abandoned them.

     Melrakki Frost-Fire was, for all anyone knew, dead. A pile of bones bearing the marks of an epic battle. Runa, on the other hand, kept the ale and mead flowing and, if a soldier was charming or had a certain look about them, took them home to warm her bed until they deployed to the farthest reaches of Skyrim.

      She had been able to remain unnoticed for so long, she had gotten comfortable. In the freezing basement of her home, she kept her weapons skills sharp and applied the paste of boiled walnut husks to her hair to maintain the color. However, she had a nagging sensation that she would not be able to be hidden forever. Eventually Farkas, or Aela, or anyone from Whiterun would come through the ice-glazed gates, and her personal version of hell would again become her reality.

     “Runa, love,” called Elda. “The mugs aren’t going anywhere. You keep staring at them as though they’re going to sprout legs and run off. Is everything all right?”

     Runa forced a chuckle. “Of course. Just…thinking.”

     Elda smiled, tossing Runa a large wooden paddle. “Well. While you’re thinking, you mind pulling those snowberry tarts out of the oven? They ought to be done, and you know how much Ulfric’s boys love them.”

     Runa nodded, using her free hand to line a woven basket with muslin and heading over to the large wood-fired oven. She had helped Elda build it, explaining how the wood would heat the stone slab and provide an even baking surface so they could offer more food and not have to rely on outside suppliers for their breads. As she bent to slide the tarts out of the oven, her amulet of Talos fell free of her bodice, tapping gently against her chin. Runa smiled, running her chin along the cool metal. She wondered briefly how Ralof was doing. It had been over a year since she had last seen him, but with how closely she worked with Stormcloak soldiers, she found her thoughts turning more and more to the man.

     Runa heard the doors to the Candlehearth open and close, and she wrapped the muslin over the top of the pastries as she stepped out of the back room. The men were at the counter with Elda, who clapped one of them on the shoulder like they were old friends. Elda looked over and motioned for her to join them. Smiling, Runa made her way to the counter, setting the basket of snowberry tarts down.

     “Runa, those smell divine as always,” praised Elda. “I’ll fetch some plates. Pick a table, boys, and we’ll all have a fresh tart. On the house. Figured you lot wouldn’t be coming back.”

     “You know we couldn’t stay away,” said one, the taller of the pair.

     Runa went behind the pair and led the way to one of the larger tables. Brushing some flour from her apron, she reached over and grabbed a handful of forks and a bottle of sugar from the next table over before turning to motion for the men to sit. She smiled warmly, eyes looking the taller one over as she began to speak.

    “Come on then, pick a seat while the tarts are…still…” Runa’s words failed her as she looked at the second man, with his straw-colored hair and crystal blue eyes. She was faintly aware of the forks and sugar falling from her fingers as realization dawned on the man’s face, and before she knew it, she was wrapped in a fierce hug.

     “By the Gods!” Ralof squeezed her hard enough to crush her, it seemed, before he released her and held her at arm’s length, studying her face. “It…it is _you_ , isn’t it?”

      Runa felt her chest tighten at the pleading look Ralof gave her, accompanied by a twinge of guilt as he dropped his hands to his side. She took a step back, her hand flying up to her amulet of Talos.

     “I…I can’t…,” she whispered, turning on her heel and bursting out the door into the bitter cold.

     She heard the Candlehearth Hall’s doors open behind her and Ralof calling to her as she walked hurriedly. She stopped once she was nearly to the Grey Quarter, leaning against frozen stone and shivering. Ralof rounded the corner, coming to a stop in front of her.

     “Melrakki…”

     “Runa,” she corrected him, bitterness creeping into her tone and looking away from him.

     He came closer, tilting her chin up with one calloused finger. “Nine be damned what you’re calling yourself,” he said quietly. “What happened to you?”

     Melrakki sighed, casting a glance at the few passersby who gave them curious looks. “Not here. Come.”

     She grabbed him by the hand, leading him through the snowy, broken streets until they were at the door to her house. Opening the door, the pair went in. Melrakki set another log on the fire, retrieving two bottles of mead and settling into a chair across from the fireplace, taking a long swig. Ralof cautiously sat in the chair next to her, uncorking his bottle and taking a small sip.

    Taking a shaky breath, she told Ralof everything that had happened since they had parted ways in Riverwood all those months ago. Being revealed as the Dragonborn, joining the Companions, and the events leading to her going into hiding in Windhelm. Melrakki kept downing mead as she relived the pain, old wounds reopening and causing tears to spill from her eyes. Through it all, Ralof remained silent, letting her get it out.

     “So. There you have it,” she said, finishing her fourth bottle of mead and looking at it with disgust before throwing the empty bottle into the fireplace. “I am the Dragonborn, and a coward. I sling drinks and tavern songs, and bed those I wish when I’m lonely.” She laughed, a horrible, bitter sound. “I’ve run away from everyone and everything, and then…you. You found me. Some great discovery you’ve made, isn’t it?”

     She got to her feet, stumbling slightly as she went to retrieve more mead. Ralof followed, grabbing her by the waist and turning her to face him. Honeyed amber eyes met sapphire blue, and he reached up, gently brushing away a tear.

     “I have found _you_ ,” he said after a moment. “Again, we meet while you are broken and hurting. I was concerned for you, Melrakki. I had hoped things had gotten easier for you, and now I see they were harder in ways I couldn’t imagine. I thought of you every day. Whether you were happy, safe…loved.”

     “I shouldn’t have left Riverwood,” she muttered darkly.

     “I should have begged you to stay by my side,” he whispered, softly pressing his lips to hers.


	2. Chapter 2

  
     Sunlight filtered through the windows, warming her face. Mumbling, she rolled over and snuggled deeper into the sleeping skins. A large hand caught her by the ribs and pulled her closer, and Melrakki sleepily placed her hand over his. Soft kisses made a trail from hairline to jaw, and she smiled lazily. Ralof smiled as well, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

     “Morning,” he whispered, rubbing her upper arm. “Did you sleep well?”

     Melrakki realized she had slept better that night than she had in a long time. She twisted to look up at him. The sunlight illuminated his hair, giving him a glow. 

     “I did,” she said quietly, “better than I have for a while.”

     “Good.” 

     Ralof tilted her chin up, kissing her slowly. Melrakki smiled into the kiss. Her wolf-keen hearing picked up shouting down the lane, and the sounds of weapons being drawn.

     She ignored it, choosing instead to wrap one arm around Ralof's shoulders. Ralof had just begun tugging at the strings of her nightdress when she heard a sound that made her blood run cold.

     The unmistakable roar of an Elder Dragon echoed through the quiet morning air, close and loud enough that it made Ralof's head snap up. Melrakki let her head fall back on her pillow, wanting to scream at the unfairness of it all. Seven months. Seven months of freedom, no dragons, no Companions, and she had been comfortable if not happy.

     Her dragon spirit was radiating fury at the draconic intruder to her territory. Groaning, Melrakki ran a hand over her face before rolling out of the bed. Ralof followed her down to the basement, where she shed her nightdress without a second thought, stepping into ornate steel armor. She worked quickly and methodically, watching Ralof hastily don his Stormcloak armor.

     “Feel free to take any weapon or potion you need, Ralof,” she said, selecting an ebony bow and a quiver of arrows before strapping twin swords to her belt. 

     Before they exited her house, she turned, lips crashing into his hungrily before she pulled away, looking at him with a hint of sadness.

     “If you truly want to be with me…it won't be easy,” she whispered. “Go. Go to your men. You will know when I have joined the fight.”

     Ralof nodded, kissing her forehead before darting out the door. Melrakki looked at herself in the full length mirror by the door. Chocolate hair fell into honey eyes, heavy steel armor in a Nordic style accentuated her curves unintentionally, showing her well-muscled upper arms. She hadn’t applied her concealing cream that morning, so her distinctive facial scars were on full display.

     Taking a deep breath, Melrakki slung a cloak over her shoulders, bringing the hood up to hide her face as she stepped out the door.

     The people of Windhelm were running to shelter, with guards and soldiers making their way to the gates. Melrakki spotted Jarl Ulfric himself heading out to the ice fields outside the city, flanked by Ralof and several others.  
She fell into step behind them, dragon and wolf spirits humming in anticipation of experiencing the thrill of battle once more.

     Before she knew it, they were outside the gates, her hand reaching beneath her cloak to pull her bow from its concealment. 

     The dragon was larger than any Melrakki had ever seen, save Alduin himself. Early morning sunlight glittered on scales of orange and violet, and the very earth shook as it landed, pawing at the ground and chuckling at the gathering of men prepared to fight it.

     It scanned the faces of those present, ancient eyes cold and calculating.

     “Dovahkiin. Dragonborn. Where do you hide, I wonder. I sense you. I smell you,” it hissed, growling.

     Ulfric said nothing, raising an arm in preparation to signal the archers. The Elder dragon laughed, inhaling and Shouting ice into the air.

     Melrakki took a deep breath, gathering her energy and drawing upon her dragon spirit. She fitted an arrow to the string, letting it fly. It found its mark in the creature's wing, tearing a large hole and eliciting an ear piercing shriek of anger and agony from the dragon.

    _“Hi rund zey. Bo. Krif zey. Aal hi kos sizaan wah tiid!”_

     Her Voice boomed across the fields, shaking the ground and making the men in front of her fall to their knees, holding their ears. Only Ulfric remained standing, turning to look at the hooded woman. Melrakki dropped her cloak, ignoring the stares and whispers. Jaw set, she strode confidently towards the animal, dropping her bow and drawing her swords.

     “Get your men inside the walls, Jarl,” she said, stopping beside Ulfric. 

     “It’s Runa…”

     “She was here, all along?”

     The Elder dragon reared its head, and Melrakki broke into a sprint across the bridge. The stone was slick with ice, which she used to her advantage, dropping to her knees and sliding underneath the beast, slashing the tendons of its rear left leg.  
The creature screamed, and Melrakki rolled out of the way, jabbing and driving the dragon into a frenzy. It Shouted ice at her, and she constructed a ward around herself, silently thanking the Dunmer of Windhelm for teaching her little magicka tricks. Raising her head and smirking at the beast, Melrakki felt the power of her dragon soul surge through her.

_“YOL TOOR SHUL!”_

     The Shout caused the dragon to recoil away from the torrent of flame, and Melrakki used the moment to lash out with her swords. A deep gash sprayed hot blood on the dragon’s neck, and as it bent to snap at her, she dodged, using a nearby rock to propel herself onto the beast's head. 

     As it thrashed, Melrakki slid her boots into the curves of it's horns, driving both swords into the base of it's skull to the hilts. It brought its wing around in desperation, a claw hooking into her side and throwing her to the ground. Melrakki cried out as she hit the hard snow, feeling her arm crack beneath her. 

     The dragon stumbled, hissed, and finally fell, it's breathing labored as it's life bled out onto the snow. The Elder dragon glared at her before giving one last shuddering breath and becoming still. Melrakki pushed herself up with her good arm, staring down at the dragon's corpse as it began to shimmer and funnel into her chest.

     She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, feeling the power of the Elder dragon flow through her. She stood there for a moment, relishing the hush that had fallen. Her wolf’s senses told her Jarl Ulfric had not sent his men inside, and she could smell the fear still pouring from them.

     Melrakki was no longer hidden from the world. She knew this. Word would reach all the Holds, and soon…the Companions would seek her out. He would seek her out. She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought about what was happening with Ralof. She knew she would never be able to love him fully, as he deserved. No matter how she tried to run from the truth, Vilkas would always have a hold on her. That night had changed so much, and yet so little.

     She sighed, shaking her head to clear it. It seemed she would need to find a new task, something to keep her moving. Harder to find, even for werewolves. Opening her eyes, Melrakki retrieved her swords from the skeletal remains of the dragon, one at a time. Her left arm hung, limp and throbbing.  
Holding her chin high and clutching her side where the dragon's claw had gored her,

     Melrakki turned to face the people. She saw Elda staring at her in disbelief, Ralof staring slack-jawed, and most curiously, Jarl Ulfric regarding her with his arms crossed. A cheer went through the crowd, and Melrakki felt a smile spread across her face despite herself. She started to walk back across the bridge when pain radiated from her wound, sending her gasping to her knees. In what felt like an instant, Ralof broke from the crowd, kneeling next to her.

     “Let me help you,” he said, eyes pleading.  
Melrakki nodded, too exhausted to argue. He slung her good arm over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to her forehead before helping her stand. She leaned into him gratefully, taking in his scent. Leather, steel, a hint of cinnamon. 

     “Stand aside!” commanded Ulfric, turning to the crowd. “Ralof, take her to my hall. My personal healers will see to her.”

     Melrakki locked eyes with him briefly as they passed him, the anger smoldering beneath his calm exterior not escaping her notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melrakki's Dovahzul roughly translates to "You found me. Come. Fight me. You will be lost to time."  
> Very roughly and probably inaccurately hahahahaha 
> 
> Poor Melrakki. All wanting to hide and whatnot and stupid dragons coming and messing it up. XD
> 
> Ulfric is not pleased hahahaha


	3. Chapter 3

     “You’re madder than they say you are.”

     The statement hung in the air. The healers shifted uncomfortably as Ulfric stopped his pacing to look at Melrakki. She set her jaw defiantly, eyes never leaving his. Elsewhere in the hall, Galmar Stone-Fist laughed. Ulfric’s nostrils flared ever so slightly, threatening to betray his mask of indifference.

     “That may be so,” he said, deep voice echoing off the stone walls. “But you cannot deny this war has not been going in our favor. Countless sons and daughters of Skyrim have fallen to these Thalmor lapdogs and an Empire that cares nothing for them. How can you sit there and deny the request to fight alongside them, knowing that you can turn the tide and keep more families from being torn apart?”

     “Families will be torn apart regardless. Are you truly so narrow-minded that you ignore that so many of the people on the Empire’s side are Skyrim born and bred as well? Nords, even. Brother against brother.”

      “It is in your blood to fight for Skyrim!” bellowed Ulfric, slamming his fist down on one of the heavy oaken tables. “Your mother was one of the Great War’s finest generals!”

     Melrakki slapped the healer’s hands away from her side, ignoring the woman’s cry of protest as she got to her feet and stalked over to Ulfric. Her dragon and wolf spirits were screaming in anger, and she grabbed a fistful of the Jarl’s fancy robes and lifted the man a good two inches off the ground. His eyes widened as he looked down at her. Melrakki’s eyes had become swirling pools of golden fire, her pupils transformed into slits.

     “My mother? What would you know of my mother? That she fought and died for nothing? That I was raised without her, not knowing much other than I had her hair, her eyes, her smile?” Melrakki turned her head and spat on the stone floor. “Men like you took her from me. Fuck you, and fuck war.”

     She dropped him then, fresh blood blooming across the simple linen tunic she had been given by the healers. Ulfric knew then why the stories of the Dragonborn had always carried an undertone of horror, and why in the tales of old those with the soul of a dragon had nearly always been warriors of the highest renown. Half of battle is mental, and with the eyes and strength of a dragon, one could strike fear into the heart of their enemies with but a single glance.

      Ulfric watched as Ralof whispered with her, pointing back to the healers with a pleading look on his face. She shook her head, pushing past Ralof and storming out of the keep. The healers pressed a basket containing bandages, salves, potion and instructions for her care. Ralof bowed his head in thanks, looking over to Ulfric with his eyebrows raised. Ulfric waved him off dismissively. The boy was still on his weeklong leave.

      “Interesting dynamic those two have,” he remarked to Galmar, who had come to stand beside him.

     “Aye,” grunted Ulfric. “I remember him telling me a woman had saved him from the caves under Helgen, nursed him back to health. He had given her his amulet, the one that I personally gave him for his service to Skyrim. Did you not see the girl wearing it? The tip of the amulet bore the same chip as before.”

      “So. Ralof’s mystery woman turns out to be the Dragonborn, and they just happen upon each other.” Galmar stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If there is a budding romance, we can use that to our advantage, my Jarl. Perhaps the boy can convince the Dragonborn to fight.”

     Ulfric considered this for a moment before turning and walking toward his throne.

     “Give the boy an additional two weeks of leave. At the end, we will deploy him to the Pale,” he called over his shoulder. “We will see how the little lovebirds handle being ripped away from each other.”

 

 

 

 

**************************************

 

 

 

 

     “Vilkas!”

     The door to his quarters was thrown open, light from the hall illuminating it painfully. Vilkas uttered a guttural growl, bolting upright, ready to flay whoever it was alive. He squinted, eyes adjusting to the intrusion and revealing Aela and Farkas, both looking like they had been chased by a wraith.

     “This had better be good. Do you ice brains even have any idea what time it is? By the Eight, you’d best start talking before I throw you out!”

     “She’s been found,” Aela said, holding out a letter.

     Farkas folded his arms, leaning back and casting a glance down the hall to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. “Elda Early-Dawn sent this letter. Apparently, Melrakki was hiding in plain sight in Windhelm, under the name Runa Strong-Arm.”

     Vilkas grabbed the letter, reading it while holding a finger up to signal the pair to shut up.

 

 

     _Companions,_

_Word reached Windhelm long ago of how devastated your ranks were with the loss of the Dragonborn. It would seem she fooled us all, and we would have been searching for her even longer if the city had not been attacked by a dragon. The size and strength of the creature was terrifying, but nothing prepared me or anyone else gathered for what we saw next._

_The Jarl had gathered his soldiers to fight the beast, but as they prepared for the battle…_

_Runa Strong-Arm. My Runa, who had arrived penniless and looking half-feral, marched right out there in nothing but leather armor and started yelling at the dragon. Yelling, at an Oblivion-cursed dragon. In its own language, no less._

_Runa is your Melrakki Frost-Fire. She was injured in the fight and taken to the Jarl’s keep. She was healed, but will not leave her home. A Stormcloak boy stays with her, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad someone was keeping an eye on her._

_Thing is, she is hurting. She has always been hurting. You can see it in her eyes when she lets her mind wander while preparing meals for the inn. Please. Come to her. I know in my heart she is too proud to come to your hall._

_The girl in the stories of the past year is not this girl. She was reckless in her battle, and before the dragon, she drank too much and ate too little. Please, Companions. She is like a daughter to me, and if someone could help her more than this Stormcloak boy, it would be you. I don’t like the way Ulfric looks at her, and I worry there may be a plot to bend her to Ulfric’s will. There are already rumors she refused to fight for the Stormcloaks. I worry for her._

_~ Elda Early-Dawn_

     Vilkas set the letter down. He felt as though he had been punched in the gut by a troll. A Stormcloak boy, keeping her company? Staying in her home?  His wolf spirit radiate anger at the thought. She was _his_ , not some upstart young soldier’s. He thought back to the first night he had met her, to the scent she had borne. Underneath the snowberries, fur and woodsmoke, there had been something else. Something masculine. She had mentioned before that she had saved a man from Helgen, a Stormcloak. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. She had probably reunited with him.

     “The Stormcloak boy…” Aela looked as though she was fighting a smirk. “You don’t think they’re…?”

     Farkas shook his head. “She knew a Stormcloak before she came to Whiterun. Rolf, or something like that. Said he helped her bury her father, and the guy’s sister put her up in her home until Melrakki came here, to warn the Jarl about the dragon attack.” He put a hand on his twin’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’s the same one, brother. We should be glad she has a friend keeping an eye on her – you know how she gets when she is upset.”

    Vilkas nodded, pushing Farkas’ hand off his shoulder and pulling a tunic on. Aela looked dejected that her little attempt to stir the pot had been brushed off so easily, and left the room. Vilkas sighed. Farkas was right, they should be so lucky that there was someone who could keep Melrakki anchored.

     “Make preparations to go to Windhelm, Farkas. I…doubt she would want to see me right away. Take Ria with you, she has missed Melrakki almost as much as I have,” he said quietly. “If she wants to see me, she will let you know. I just want to know she is safe.”

    Farkas opened his mouth to say something, but surprised Vilkas when he closed it, apparently thinking better of it. Farkas simply nodded, ducking out of his brother’s quarters to get his bags packed. Vilkas felt a pang of sadness, knowing that he would not be going to see her. He knew it would also be for the best, though. Melrakki would still be mad at him, she would probably turn her back on him and not speak to him. The thought felt like a hot knife twisting in his heart, but Vilkas ignored it and his wolf spirit mourning what it had felt was its mate.

     Grabbing his greatsword, Vilkas left for the back porch of Jorrvaskr. He needed to blow off steam, and envision a faceless Nord man as each of the training dummies.

 


End file.
